On Sunday, January 10, 2016, I made an important though grief-filled decision: To fly out to be by my father's side until his passing.
My father, Rigoberto Marvin Esquivel, had had a powerful stroke. He had probably suffered the stroke on Friday, 8 January, and he lay unconscious until my baby sister, following an inspired prompting, sent the police to do a security check on him. There he lay, by his bed. The prognosis at this point, though not particularly good, still left some hope of recovered ability, though with considerable deficits. Due to inclement weather my trip out to him became a trek that lasted just under twenty-four hours.
Every encounter with my father was touching, tender and tearful. It was hard to see him this way, especially in the midst of a second, third, possibly later even fourth or fifth stroke. But despite all these misfortunes, the good fortune of having my father conscious, full of the memory of the people he loved, and the things he loved, was touching. I will always remember how he peered through his physical decline to light up in unexpected delight when he saw me as I cupped his gentle, bristly face on Monday, January 11. He had expected not to see me because of distance and costs. I decided to bear this burden as one final honor for my father. He deserved all the comfort I could give him.
Monday was hard. Tuesday was harder. Wednesday was hard. I was feeling the emotional drain. I would weep as I held his face, stroked his hair, held his hand. The prognoses were bad, and it was clear his demise was eminent, unless we overrode his wishes, but then only to prolong his decline by months if not by weeks. I am grateful for the influence of God through His Spirit. Only His assurance could give peace of mind at agreeing to usher one's father to the point of passing.
On Thursday I began wondering where my Lord was in all this. I had felt numb, very numb, and in an emotionally expressed torpor. I did read Scripture, and I did pray, but without relish or relief. On Thursday I decided to turn to God in greater earnest: I prayed that He would give me peace and show me guidance, but mostly give me peace. It was at this point that a clear indication came to my mind: "Take your father's Bible, his well-loved and well-worn Bible, and read to him from it." I did. To my surprise my father lit up in delight. I read to him from the Gospel of John.
On Friday my older sister, in many regards knowing our father best, said, "He really likes the Psalms." She even knew which ones. This my father
really enjoyed. It was here that the next clear thought came to me: "I will show you a Scripture on the Redemption of the Dead in The Bible." Immediately my mind rallied with curiosity and expectation. On Saturday I had the idea to share the readings, in Spanish, so now Olga and Rene were reading too. No passage on the Redemption of the Dead was coming to my understanding as of yet, but I waited patiently.
On Sunday, January 17, 2016, I arose with a clear idea in my mind, as if I had dreamed of it, as if it had been spoken to me, as though my ears still bore the sensation: "I will show you a Scripture on the Redemption of the Dead in The Old Testament." Now I was really intrigued. As before we siblings read to our Father, Olga leading the readings--being the eldest carries with it certain honors and duties. Though not the next oldest I read next. Knowing that my father loved the Psalms and seeing how much comfort and enjoyment Olga's Psalm selections brought him, I searched randomly for a Psalm that sounded soothing at this point. Randomly reading the first verses of various Psalms my eyes were snared by the opening line of Psalm 107: "O give thanks unto The Lord, for He is good: for His goodness endureth for ever." "Yes," I decided, "This would be the one."
The reading went comfortably until I hit verses 10-16. It was here that my understanding was lifted and I began almost gasping at every verse; it was here that I realized, perceiving the underlying Hebrew, that this passage was dealing with the Redemption of the Dead.
- 107:10 Such as sit in darkness and in shadow-death, being bound in affliction and iron;
- 107:11 Because they had rebelled against the words of El, and had contemned the counsel of The Most High.
- 107:12 Therefore He subjected their heart to bitter labor; they had stumbled, and there was none to help.
- 107:13 Then they cried to Jehovah in their distresses, and He saved them.
- 107:14 He led them out of darkness and shadow-death, and their chains He broke away.
- 107:15 Let them thank Jehovah for His grace and His wonderful deeds unto the sons of Adam.
- 107:16 For He breaketh down the gates of bronze, and the bars of iron He cutteth through.
I was amazed. As I stood I turned to my brother and asked him to read, and I said to him, "This is about the Redemption of the Dead! I will show you later."
I stood in the narrow space between my father's bed and his neighbor's bed, and I shifted so that my brother could come by. Then, in an instant, I no longer saw the room at St. Francis Pavilion where my father lay slowly dying. Nor did I see anyone who was accompanying me, my brother Rene, sister Olga, beloved sister-in-law Angie. I was on elevated ground, standing on what seemed to be a knoll or rise covered in gravel or shards of rock. I faced downward at what was either the slope into a cave or a depression. All around there was thick, silvery dark fog, the kind one sees in San Francisco between 8-9 in the morning. Out of the depression or cave, I could not fathom which, there were about, I am guessing, 20 men. They were all Hispanic, all male, all dressed in street clothes of somber grey tones or dark colors, all seeming to be about 30 years of age. Though young in age they did not seem young because the expressions they bore were of the utmost gravity. They were coming toward me in roughly a triangular formation with a point man in the lead, the triangular formation fashioned from the point man back. They were all talking to me, but not with their mouths, with their minds. And curiously enough, I could understand them all simultaneously. I took them all in and, though I did not recognize them, I sensed familiarity with them: They were my dead, my men, men of my family. It was then that I really focused on the face of the point man, and it was his face, his intense gaze, that I focused on. I then contrived to recognize him, but not from life, from a photograph of when he was in his early thirties: It was my beloved maternal grandfather!
As my grandfather came closer to me he said two words, and he said them three times, but each time understanding flooded my mind and filled my understanding with such vividness that I thought he had spoken those words to me, though in reality he had uttered two words to me.
- "I believe." And I understood with vividness that he was telling me, "I believe in Jesus Christ, that He is my Redeemer and my Savior. I have repented of my sins."
- "I believe." And I understood with vividness that he was telling me, "I believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, that through him God restored His Church. I believe in the Restoration of the Gospel."
- "I believe." And I understood with vividness that he was telling me, "Do the work for me. Redeem my soul. Release me from this prison." Here I felt the urgency of his soul, as if he had with passion pleaded to "Get me out of here!"
Nestor Francisco Guadamuz Miranda had been a wonderful grandfather. He had loved us grandchildren and supported us throughout our entire lives. When my parents divorced, when I was age seven, and my mother had to work as a secretary and raise four kids alone, I marveled that she could provide for all our needs including sending all four of us to private schools, all on what had to be a meager salary. It was not until I grew into maturity that I realized that the numbers had not added up. Indeed they had not. It was Nestor Guadamuz, my maternal grandfather, and Josefa Mercedes Lopez de Guadamuz, my maternal grandmother, who had seen to the monetary shortfalls with quiet and selfless assistance. He was a wonderful grandfather (and she a wonderful grandmother), and I could not have asked for better.
Yet Nestor had made some mistakes, terrible mistakes. As it happened, he was born into a society where these mistakes were more common, sanctioned in certain dark circles, encouraged, enjoyed. Later in life, much later, I suspect, he grew ashamed, pained, but rather than admit, rather than confess to those he had hurt, rather than bearing the humiliation of asking for forgiveness, and rather than sustaining the shock and disgrace of loosing face, (and such a disclosure would have brought with it a lot of pain), he hardened his heart in Atheism. Now, I am not suggesting that Atheism is an escape from culpability, only that some may use Atheism this way. I suspect that my grandfather and his brothers had rallied around a denial of God as a way of assuaging their conscience. After all, if there is no God, then why repent or even feel guilt? What would be the point?
Through this all I suspected that my grandfather actually did believe in God, and at times he let on that the curious way events would line up for his good just when it seemed like there was no hope and doom was inevitable would lead him to say, "There must be a God above." Then he would erase the notion calling it foolishness.
I suspect that the reason Nestor was such a great grandfather was mainly that he was a good man and he derived joy from caring for his kindred, and many, many others. Still, for him, charity began at home. He had it in him, I believe, to be an Abraham.
But there was another reason Nestor was so good, and this one saddens me to say it: He was attempting to make up for the mistakes he had made and the hurt he had inflicted. In part Nestor was attempting to undo his sins through enormously loving generosity to his grand-kids. But as often as these acts of providing and caring, largely sincerely from love, though with the underlying aim of making up for past wrongs, led him to consider that God might live, he pushed the notion aside. I rather believe the impulse here was fear of the need to repent, and rather than follow the call he felt to cry to God for assistance, he recoiled in denial. And this it what it had led to.
Anyhow, the vision. Yes, I had seen a vision. There is no doubt in my mind that I saw this event. I should add, as I saw it, and it lasted maybe only five seconds, but with the impression that time somehow slowed down and maybe even stood still, astonishment in me grew into something like fear. Not knowing or understanding what I was seeing I shook my head as one does a snow globe, as if to knock my perception back into order, and in an instant the vision was gone, and I was again in my father's shared room at St. Francis Pavilion. Immediately I understood what I had seen, and I turned to my brother, he who had once been quite the Temple-work aficionado, "Did we ever do the work for Abuelito [Grand-dad/our maternal grandfather]?" Immediately his eyes widened and he gasped, "No! We never did!" I resolved to do just that, to redeem him. I had to repent myself, and I did so on my knees. I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for over 31 years, and I had neglected my dead. But not any more. I have committed to redeeming my dead, in particular those of my dead men who rebelled against the words of El and contemned His counsel, but have cried out to Jehovah who can break down the gates of shadow-death and cut the bars and the chains and save them.
Thus was the Gospel preached to those who had died in their sins, without a knowledge of the truth, or in transgression, having rejected the prophets.
These were taught faith in God, repentance from sin, vicarious baptism for the remission of sins, the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands,
And all other principles of the Gospel that were necessary for them to know in order to qualify themselves that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.
And so it was made known among the dead, both small and great, the unrighteous as well as the faithful, that redemption had been wrought through the sacrifice of The Son of God upon the cross. (Doctrine and Covenants 138:32-35)
As I recall this singular event (truly, the very first such encounter), I have understood some important points:
- We choose our destiny by our deeds, our thoughts, words, actions, including the decision to repent and keep the commandments of God.
- The Father does not literally beat us, or thrust us into fire, but it is our own heart that cannot deny the evil we have done, the pain we have inflicted, the trust we violated, and when all earthly cares are gone, our heart will grieve and crush in anguish for the wrongs we did...because we are children of God, and deep within our spiritual nature is a love of light and goodness, and an abhorrence of evil.
- It is folly to deny the Atonement. The good acts we do can fill us with light, or rather invite the Light of The Lord into us, but not a single act of kindness or generosity or selflessness atones for any past sins or wrongs. We cannot atone for our own sins; suffering the consequences is not an act of atonement. Not even a life of devotion to one's little ones will atone for sins. There is One Savior and Redeemer, and He alone Atoned for the sins of the world: Jehovah, Jesus Christ, The Messiah, The Son of God.
- Suffering for sins is tragic. Embracing the Atonement releases us from the burden of sin and makes salvation possible.
- The Lord takes into consideration our circumstances. He knows that some are born into loving homes where they are raised in tenderness, faith, and ushered along a path of utmost righteousness, while others are born into circumstances where a parent is absent or given to abandon, where wrong examples entice fragile minds with evils. Yes, we can still rise above these sins, but when people cave in to the blood and sins of their generation, the rebellious still answer for their actions, but if they call on their Redeemer even from shadow-death or spirit prison, He will hear their cries...and no bets are off the table. Exaltation and eternal life are still possible.
- As we the living assist our dead, compensating for their current inability to enter these covenants the only way it is possible, in a mortal body, (you see, there are covenants we make as premortal spirits, and there are covenants we must make during our mortal probation), we become saviors on Mount Zion. When we come before the judgment bar of The Great Jehovah, Jesus Christ, there will not be a higher eternal life for those who, like me, accepted the Gospel in mortality [presuming I and others endure to the end; I am working on this; it is a work in progress], or a lower eternal life for those who, like my grandfather, came to believe while in spirit prison. No, there will be one eternal life, and if anything, I will hoist my dead above me, for it is my grandfather's right and honor to preside over me, and I accept his presidency. I understand now what may have been meant by "the first shall be last and the last shall be first." Yes, the proud shall be humbled and the humble shall be exalted. As I redeem my dead, I being the first to accept the Restoration in my line, I take those of my dead who later join and, by doing their work for them, lift them above me to preside over me. So I do not raise my throne up, rather, I hoist their throne above mine. And this is how it should be. Let the child honor father and mother. This is the eternal order. This is life as it should be.
The vision was precisely what I needed to get me through the pain of the coming days. My father's condition began worsening even more quickly, but through it all he was alert, awake, alive. He continued astonishing me in particular with the ardent love he felt for my beloved sister-in-law, Angela "Angie" Esquivel. Her voice, whether by speech or song, would stir him, and he would raise his left arm and swing it while she sang old-time Baptist spirituals to him. But we were watching his demise, and though these moments should have been crushing, somehow, having seen my kindred dead, confirmed to me that this whole life event, and the Gospel message itself, the Restoration including the great work of the Temple, is true, is actually real. And this realization swallowed up the pain I otherwise would have felt.
On Monday, January 18, I resolved that I needed to tell my father something about the vision. I felt the urgency. I told him, "Daddy, you're going to see Don Nestor ["Don" is a title of respect, 'lord']. He has changed. He is not going to be the way you knew him in life. He has changed. He is a believer now." My dad's eye widened. "He will tell you that he believes now, that he believes in Jesus Christ." Tuesday, January 19, my brother and I, as the men of the family, as men, realized what my sisters had not, that dad was in denial about his own death. Yes, he was an enormous man of faith. I saw his Bibles, worn out in study. In one Bible had used a straight edge to place an ink line after every single verse of The Bible from beginning to end. I knew what this meant: He wanted to be absolutely sure that he had read every single verse in that Holiest of Books; my father wanted to be able to stand before His Maker, His Redeemer, and say, "Lord, I read every single word in your Book, and I tried to live by your words of life." Yet my father was also human, and fear set in, and he was in denial. So, as the sons, we told him, "Dad, you're passing. It is okay. We will be with you to the very moment." My father, it seemed, panicked. He started trying to lift himself from the bed, flailing his left leg and arm, weakly, gesturing anguish and tears. I felt so sad for him, and my brother and I tried to comfort him. Had he been able I think he would have jumped up and run down the hall screaming. We all have our moments of fear, or panic, and it is often our loved ones, be they children or dear friends, who lift us up. My sisters, not knowing what had transpired, called the nurses thinking my father somehow to have gotten agitated.
On Wednesday, January 20, Dad was much more relaxed. He had come to terms. It was evident. It was obvious. He was at peace now, and I believe he was ready. So it was here that I continued the previous day's conversation: "Dad, I really need to tell you something. I feel I need to say this. Death is an instant. Snap, and you're there. When you pass you will see family and friends you have not seen in years, in many years. You will also see family you have only ever heard of. And you will see family you have never even heard of. You will see your beloved "Mamita" ['Momma'], but she will not be the way you remembered her when she passed or in her final years. We saw her as a wonderful elderly woman. When you see her again you will see her young, gallant, appearing to be about age 30. All spirits appear to be about this age." He raised his eyebrow. "And Dad, the Gospel is preached among spirits. The Gospel is preached there." He raised his eyebrow again. I wanted to say more, so much more, but I did not want to overwhelm him. What I wanted to say was, "Dad, Abuelito will share the Restoration of the Gospel with you, and when he tells you how he came to believe and be redeemed, you will believe, at long last, you will believe it too." Instead I felt to trust in The Lord's timing for this. It was going to happen soon enough.
My beloved earthly father passed away on the morning of Thursday, January 21, 2016, in the embrace and tears of his youngest child, my beloved sister Rita.
We stood by his earthly remains until the fine gentlemen from the mortuary service respectfully carried them away. Then my bosom buddy twin, Rene, and his lovely wife Angela, set out for an important errand that would take them hours, the remainder of the day. Rita needed to return to her children, and my dear older sister Olga and I remained.
I told Olga that I did not feel like returning to my dad's house just yet. I wanted to be in nature. I wanted time alone just to walk and decompress. Like it or not, this is stress, and nature can bring relief. We chose Twin Peaks. Though I was born and raised in San Francisco, I had never ascended Twin Peaks on my own. We went, we rode, we walked, we strode, together, and alone. This was curative.
But even after a couple of hours up there, a session above the city, in the clouds, I was not ready to return home. I suggested we go out and eat, and she suggested Italian Village. All my life I had somehow managed to be ignorant of the fact that San Francisco has an Italian sector called Italian Village. We were blessed to find great parking, and we happened upon a charming restaurant called, Pinocchio's. We ordered our food and, as we waited, sitting at a cute table for two, by the window with a view onto the adorable street and shops, I looked at Olga. She was looking sad, somber, and I could tell she was in her thoughts, in her realm of pensive feeling. I felt for her. I pondered myself, "My father just died hours ago. I should be heart-broken. I should be so sad. Yet, I feel happy, not overjoyed that he is dead, but I saw my grandfather, and I know that there is life beyond. I know that the Restoration is true. And for reasons I can't put my finger on, I feel buoyed up, and at peace. Yes, I feel at peace."
At this instant my eyes caught a glimpse, a momentary vista. I saw my father, dressed in white, in a place of white light, so white and so bright that I saw no ground, no trees, nothing but white light. There he stood, dressed in bright white light, surrounded by a numberless concourse of people dressed in white robes, full of bright white light. Everyone was pressing closer to my father, surrounding him, speaking to him with their minds. I perceived that they were sending him great love, overwhelming joy, and my father was overwhelmed with joy. I have never seen him so happy, and happy was the word. He was so happy he was laughing. I perceived that the closest ring of people around him were family he had not seen in years, followed by family he had only ever heard of, followed by throngs of family he had never even heard of. And everyone was overjoyed to see him join them in this world of light. They loved him, and he has never felt so happy.
Since this brief glimpse I have understood so much:
- When we die, instantly all connections to property, status, money, prominence, station, title, are gone, gone and of absolutely no value.
- What we have is light and love, the good we did, the love we showed, in particular, the love of our Lord.
- My father was a fine cabinet maker, but a man of humble status and modest means. Yet he followed his Lord to the best of his understanding and ability, and his lifelong devotion to God had led him to a joyous state of light and love. And he now experiences joy and happiness.
And I can only trust that there is so much more yet to be experienced. My mind could hardly take in what I saw; any higher degree would have produced a mental white out, as in a snow storm, but one in which the light is so intense my mortal mind simply cannot perceive it. I will perform the work for my father on the 21st or 22nd or 23rd of January, 2017. As soon as approval for his name comes, on the day it arrives, I will have his vicarious baptism, initiatories, and endowment performed.
And what did I learn here? That the Gospel of Jesus Christ is true! The Gospel was restored through Joseph Smith! This is not just an assertion, we Saints did not self-induce this belief, but we have grasped and latched onto the very Truth herself.
On 30 January, 2016, via the Columbus Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Nestor Francisco Guadamuz Miranda was redeemed from the shadow of death. His grandson, c'est moi, had the honor of being baptized for him, confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, ordained an Elder, of receiving his washing and anointing, and receiving his endowment. Now he, too, has entered light. He now has begun his own ministry to preach with power and authority. He had it in him to be an Abraham, and he will now become an Abraham, "exalted father", and rule and reign above me. And as I wrote, my grandfather and my father will preside over me in the eternities, and I embrace their presidency over me. This is how it should be.
You may think me crazy. You may think me too given to religious thought, so much so that I imagined things. You may think I have lied or practiced creative composition. Or you may recognize truth in what I have written. However you see it, this much I can say, this is actually textual, at least on this page.
Follow-up, Friday, 10 February 2017:
As much as I had anticipated the date of my father's passing (in order to perform his saving ordinances), I allowed worldly cares, none nefarious, but all of less than eternal import, to distract me. Then I fell ill, bad cold, but deemed it appropriate to wait so as not to infect the elderly servants of The Lord.
Finally the morning of Friday, February 10, 2017, a thought crossed my mind: "Call the Temple and ask whether you could join in on a session for baptisms for the dead." I was thinking that maybe a youth group might be in attendance and I could join in. It was a long shot, I thought.
But no. I was informed that the Columbus Ohio Temple reserves Friday nights, 6:30-7:30 PM for walk-in baptisms for the dead, for folks in my very situation. Interesting.
When I arrived everything started falling into place. I myself was able to stand in for my father and be immersed, washed, for him. Then I was able to jump into the tail end of the Initiatory Session and receive the Melchizedek Priesthood for him as well as his Initiatories. The Temple workers were aglow at the prospect of assisting me to do the work for my Dad.
Then, as I had decided, I would defer the honors of performing my Dad's Endowment to my brother. That would mean a delay of several months, but I thought the payoff of bestowing that honor on my brother was worth the wait. I had said nothing to anyone at the Temple of getting my father's Endowment at that time, but an excited Temple worker came and, all aglow, informed me that I could make the 8 PM Endowment session.
What to do? I thought of just quietly departing, or at least stepping out to make a call to him and ask for his input. I did not want to wrest this honor from my twin, in particular because he had been very close to my father his whole life. I love my father and always loved him, but my twin had a connection. At this moment a clear understanding came to my mind: "He (your father) needs his endowment now for the ministry." And I understood that my father needed to receive his endowments now in order to get prepared for the work of the ministry. So I proceeded to get my father his Endowment.
The next day, Saturday, in the midst of Scripture study, another understanding came to me: The myriads of righteous ancestors that I saw surrounding my father, among them all, or among all who have departed to gather unto them, there has been not a single person, not one, who departed prepared to preach to them. But now my father, after having fought the good fight and overcome so much adversity, with personal experience of redemption via the Atonement, devotion to the Word of God, and proven faith, faith ready to expand exponentially, my father was
the one person of our family lines' descendants who would be in the position of preaching to the ancestors with power and might and of convincing them to believe, and not just to believe, truly to change and live in the spirit as though they had been Abraham or Isaac or Jacob. My father, and I want to believe, my grandfather, can team up like Alma and Amulek,and preach the Gospel to all of my descendants. The great work of The Lord is accelerating.
No one's story ends at death. The best is yet to come!
Friday night, 10 February 2017, 10 PM,
just minutes after receiving the Endowment
(and Initiatories and Vicarious Baptism)
for my father.
The Lord does indeed bind
the children to the fathers and
the fathers to the children.
Now my father can assume his rightful place
presiding over me for all eternity.
